


approaching infinity

by balimaria



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: And Martin Loves Him For It, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Good Cows (The Magnus Archives), Hurt/Comfort, I Also Love That That's A Tag, I love that that's a tag now, Jon tries, M/M, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), This fic doesn't want to hurt you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24763273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balimaria/pseuds/balimaria
Summary: Martin was sitting next to him- although, maybe sitting wasn’t quite the word. The couch was for two people. They were both squeezed onto a cushion made for one. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but that wasn’t the point.It was comforting.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 6
Kudos: 153





	approaching infinity

**Author's Note:**

> I just had to write something for the Scottish safehouse period, and eureka! It had finally come! Enjoy~

“...Then there was the time you thought that I had poisoned your tea for like, two months straight. I was admittedly rather concerned.”

Jon laughed. It felt wrong. Well, not wrong. Just weird. Different.

Unfamiliar.

Martin was sitting next to him- although, maybe sitting wasn’t quite the word. The couch was for two people. They were both squeezed onto a cushion made for one. It wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but that wasn’t the point.

It was comfort _ing._

After his raspy chuckles had petered out, Jon blinked- then he frowned. Martin had been silent for nearly half a minute. The man (his friend? Boyfriend? Were they even bothering with labels?) next to him was staring vacantly out the misted window, over the jaded green hills marbled with herds of cattle. What with the way his eyes had clouded over, Jon could nearly feel the phantom licks of fog curling around his ankles.

That wouldn’t stand. Not here, not now. Not after everything.

Jon ghosted a hand across Martin’s cheek. And though the pads of his fingers had barely grazed his skin, the touch was enough to return the vibrance to Martin’s eyes. His lashes fluttered as he blinked away the salty water that had gathered in his silent staring contest with the window.

Jon said nothing. Just tightened his grip around Martin’s hand, rubbing comforting circles over and over onto his knuckles and pointedly ignoring the way the first forty-eight digits of pi had been helpfully dropped into his mind. 

He sent a silent _fuck you_ up to Beholding. 

Nearly five minutes passed before he heard Martin speak again.

“...Jon?” he whispered. His voice was so viscerally _vulnerable_ that it came close to breaking Jon’s heart.

“Yeah?” he whispered back, doing his best to convey _”Martin you aren’t alone anymore I’m here now and we’re together and we’re safe so you don’t have to be afraid anymore”_ with just the single word.

Martin just shook his head, a self-deprecating smile pulling at his lips. It was so familiar and yet Jon had never quite realized how much he _hated_ it.

“Sorry,” he murmured. Jon watched, urging him on. “I just- it’s all… this, I guess.” 

Martin waved his hands around in a vague gesture of whatever “this” was. 

“It’s just so sudden… being, like, happy again? That I can’t help but wait for everything to just… fall apart, I suppose.”

Jon nodded, inspecting the curves and whorls of the cabin walls as he thought.

“Well, uh… I don’t really know what to tell you,” he said- a little guiltily, perhaps. “I mean, I’m the Archivist, not a therapist… but, uh, I mean, if nothing else…”

Jon brought himself to look into Martin’s eyes. Deep brown-gray, like tree bark. In a pulse of sudden melancholy, Jon recalled that that was what his eyes had used to look like. But they had long since changed to a piercing emerald green.

They glowed when it was dark, Jon had discovered. He wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that.

“...If nothing else?”

Jon started. 

“Ah… sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just got lost in my thoughts.”

Martin’s lips curved up. It would be generous to call it a smile, but it made Jon happier than he had been since he’d joined the Institute.

“If nothing else,” he picked up. “We- well, we have each other now.”

“Thanks,” Martin murmured after a pause, his fingers tightening around Jon’s. But the half smile had faded away. Jon mentally cursed himself- had he said something wrong?

“You don’t have to pretend for me, y’know.”

Jon blinked. Then he blinked again.

“Sorry, what?” he asked.

“Earlier,” Martin continued. “When you were laughing like that. It was a stupid joke- barely even a joke, really- insulting something you’re probably traumatized about and you were just- I dunno, laughing! You don’t have to pretend to be happy to make me feel better, okay?”

Jon laid his other hand on Martin’s thigh.

“Martin, I wasn’t pretending,” he said. “You really, honestly, _genuinely_ just make me feel happy.” Jon smiled reassuringly. “Besides… it feels kinda good to laugh about that stuff? Like… maybe we can start putting it behind us, y’know?”

Martin stared at him for a minute, then- very abruptly- pulled him into a crushing hug. And if Jon felt a few drops of water soaking into his sleeve- well, that very well could’ve been a leak, couldn’t it?

“Thank you, Jon. Really. I… I never thought…” Martin was interrupted by a small hiccup jolting his lungs.

It was the tipping point- the final straw. 

_My,_ Jon thought as Martin sobbed into his shirt. _Might have to get the roof checked._

***

It was ten stiff yet cathartic minutes later that Martin and Jon pulled apart. No words passed between them, and yet they both knew what to do next.

Cows don’t pet themselves.

***

“Oh! Look at its ears! They’re so small and fluffy!”

Jon smiled softly at Martin’s squeal of delight. Personally, he wasn’t interested in getting gored by highland cattle- but they seemed to like Martin well enough. Whether it was his natural aura of sweetness or something else, Jon didn’t care to find out.

It seemed he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter, though. Martin had abruptly latched onto his arm, dragging him towards the herd with incredible persistence. Jon laughed nervously as he stumbled in Martin’s wake, doing his best to bodily detach the man’s vice-like grip from his arm. But all he got for his efforts were grass stains and mud on his boots.

“Jon- please, you have to see them!” Martin said. “They’re just the sweetest things. I promise you’ll love them!” the words poured out of him unfiltered, like cows were the only thing that made him happy anymore.

“...Oh, come on, Jon. Don’t give me that look,” Martin chided. Jon only scowled deeper. The cows smelled deeply unpleasant and a few of them were giving him looks like they were deciding how thick his flesh was. They were unrestrained beasts, and while he may not Know that, the death glares in their big wet eyes was enough to convince him.

“Martin,” Jon said, deeply serious. “I think these cows are part of the Slaughter.”

Martin barked out a laugh. “Oh, wow!” he huffed. “Jon, I forgot you actually had a sense of humor. Man, I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re here.”

Jon flushed right up to his ears, desperately hoping for something intelligent to come out his mouth. But the only sound that occupied the air was the gentle swish of the breeze winding through the grass.

Jon let out a breath, finally conceding that it was hopeless. 

“Wow!” Martin breathed suddenly. “Jon, look at that tree! We have to go check it out!”

He let Martin drag him up to a weeping willow growing at the top of the hillock. 

“...Just love these trees, don’t you? I always wanted to write some poetry about them, but I could never get it to turn out quite right. Hell, I didn’t bring any paper… oh well. Guess we’ll just have to enjoy the beautiful day instead!”

Tuning into Martin’s ramblings was like listening to music. It all had a rhythm and cadence about it. It was… shockingly soothing.

By the time they reached the twisted roots of the tree, Jon was nearly half asleep. Martin’s heat-pack body wasn’t helping, either.

They sat together, hand in hand, watching the cattle drift across the ocean of grass. The smell of rain was on the air, but they both found themselves uncaring. It was incredible how vastly different this week and the last had been. It was as large as the gap between life and death, of love and fear.

The chilled winds ruffled the fabric of their clothes, bringing more promise of the future weather. Without another word, they stood, brushing dew from their trousers.

Jon stepped closer to Martin as they walked the winding path back to the cottage. Even as the rain began to fall from the blanket of clouds above, they moved no faster. 

They had been through infinitely worse than a little rain. They’d be fine.


End file.
